Fallout: New Vegas
by T.J. Smith
Summary: During the year 2281 (204 years after the Great War of 2077) in a post-apocalyptic Las Vegas and Mojave Desert. Vegas was not struck directly by a nuclear attack. An amnesic courier sets out for vengeance against the mysterious man who shot him, and reclaim his stolen package containing untold power. But others may want the package, as the Mojave erupts into war. War never changes.
1. Introduction

War. War never changes.

When atomic fire consumed the earth, those who survived did so in great, underground vaults. When they opened, their inhabitants set out across ruins of the old world to build new societies, establish new villages, form new tribes.

As decades passed, what had been the American southwest united beneath the flag of the New California Republic (NCR), dedicated to old-world values of democracy and the rule of law. As the Republic grew, so did its needs. Scouts spread east, seeking territory and wealth, in the dry and merciless expanse of the Mojave Desert. They returned with tales of a city untouched by the warheads that had scorched the rest of the world, and a great wall spanning the Colorado River.

The NCR mobilised its army and set it east to occupy the Hoover Dam, and restore it to working condition. But across the Colorado, another society had arisen under a different flag. A vast army of slaves, forged in the conquest of 86 tribes: Caeser's Legion.

Four years have passed since the Republic held the Dam - just barely - against the Legion's onslaught. The Legion did not retreat. Across the river, they gathered strength. Campfires burned, training drums beat.

Through it all, the New Vegas Strip has stayed open for business under the control of its mysterious overseer, Mr. House, and his army of rehabilitated Tribals and police robots.

There was once a courier, hired by the Mojave Express, to deliver a package to the New Vegas Strip. What seemed like a simple delivery job had taken a turn...for the worse.


	2. Last Delivery

The Courier woke up. Instantly he realised his hands were bound together, rope restraining his movement. He couldn't scream, or cry out, as he had also been gagged. Yet nothing restricted his heart from pumping at an insane rate. The dirt on his clothes suggested he had been dragged across the desert floor, violently. Being captured was not comfortable.

There were men around him, discussing something.

"Guess who's waking up over here?" A rough voice teased. The Courier raised his head to see the speaker. The speaker was one of a small gang of men, dirty tribals with unkempt facial hair and wild hairstyles. One was hard at work digging a shallow grave. About twenty miles across the desert, the night was lit up by the lightshow that was Vegas.

With them, clearly in charge, was a very different man. A clean shaven, neat haired, wealthy looking man, in an expensive checkered suit. Looking with snake-like eyes at the Courier, he took a final puff from a cigarette - flinging it down without care.

"Time to cash out." The leader said calmly, stamping out the cigarette.

"Would you get it over with!" One of his darker skinned mercenaries complained. The suited leader raised a hand to silence him.

"Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but I ain't a fink, dig?" He never moved his gaze from the kidnapped Courier's face. So these hired assholes were 'Khans', the Courier mentally noted.

The leader reached into his blazer, getting out a poker chip. Made of platinum. Stolen, this was the item the Courier had been told to deliver to Vegas.

"You've made your last delivery kid." He threatened, with a kind tone.

Benny puts Platinum Chip away.

"Sorry you got twisted up in this scene" he sympathised as he put the Platinum Chip back into his blazer, and in its place drew a 9mm pistol. "From where you're kneeling it must seem like an 18-carat run of bad luck." He said, observing his gun, then pointing it at the Courier's head, "But, truth is...the game was rigged from the start."

A second later, the leader of the kidnappers shot; and the world became a shallow pit of pain and darkness.


	3. Ain't That a Kick in the Head

A blinding light filled his sight, they always said that's what you see when you die, when you go to heaven. It dimmed - and the Courier was aware that he wasn't dead. Above him spun a ceiling fan, as everything cleared.

"You're awake, how about that." Said a voice.

The Courier tried to move his head...a lot of pain there. With some struggle, he accomplished sitting up in the bed, to face the man sat by him.

"Whoa, easy there, easy. You've been cold out a couple o' days now.", steadying the Courier, who was only wearing boxers and a shirt. They were in a fairly neat, small wooden bungalow. Medical equiptment scattered on desks, this must be a hospital, and this man must be the doctor. "Why don't you just relax a second? Get your bearings." The old balding doctor said. He couldn't recall this place, or the doctor, or how he could have ended up here. "Let's see what the damage is, how about your name? You know your name." Didn't he? He'd had his name all his life, yet it was gone from his mind. He was a courier, that was his job.

"C-Courier." He muttered uncertainly.

"Huh. Can't say its what I'd have picked for you, but if that's your name, that's your name. I'm Doc Mitchell. Welcome to Goodsprings." He said kindly, with little emotion. "Now, I hope you don't mind, but I had to go rooting 'round in your noggin to pull all the bits of lead out. I take pride in my needlework, but you better tell me if anything's out of place" Not exactly assuring.

The good doctor passed him a small device with a screen, a Reflectron. He saw himself in the screen, not looking too bad except for the few new scars on his upper forehead, but at least he was alive. Putting the Reflectron down, he looked back, lost for words, at the doctor. What happened?

"Well, I got most of it right anyway. Stuff that matters." He mentioned, getting up from his seat, and grabbing the Courier under the arms, "Okay. No sense in keeping you in bed anymore. Let's see if we can get you on your feet." He lifted him, the sensation causing his sight to blur for a few moments.

Slowly, it refocused on the doctor. "Good. Why don't you walk down to the living room. Take it slow now, it ain't a race."

The doctor walked over to the other room, followed by the Courier. Every step became easier, until he was no longer clumsy, back to normal.

"Looking good so far," The doctor complimented, "Well we know your vitals are good." He walked through his living room, a shabby, dreary room with a ruined couch and a few chairs. "What do you say you take a seat on my couch, go through a few tests, see if your dogs are still barking.", the doctor sat in a seat next to the couch.

The Courier reclined onto the couch. The doctor leaned towards him, interestedly.

"All right. I'm going to say a word. I want you to say the first thing that comes to mind. Dog?"

"Train." Dogs make loyal companions.

"House?"

"Shelter." Life after a nuclear war left people fighting for shelter.

"Night?"

"Dream."

"Bandit?"

"Vaporize." Like he would the bandit who shot him, who took the valuable Platinum Chip.

"Light?"

"Inspiration."

"Mother?"

He could no longer remember his mother, why did she matter more than others, whoever she was, she was just another person between him and the thief.

"Human shield." He said coldly, with regret.

"Hmm. Sometimes when you give tests like this, you learn more than you was hoping for, and I reckon that ain't always the best thing. But I guess it explains a thing or two about your predicament. Okay. Now I've got a few statements. I want you to tell me. How much they sound like something you'd say. First one, 'Conflict just ain't in my nature.'?"

"Disagree, I'll fight when it's needed."

"'I ain't given to relying on others for support.'?"

"Disagree, sometimes help's needed."

"'I'm always fixing to be the center of attention.'"

"Yep." We all love a bit of attention.

"'I'm slow to embrace new ideas.'"

"No." He loved to have the newest of anything. And he was now embracing his amnesic state pretty well.

"'I charge in to deal with my problems head-on.'"

"Yeah." Like he'd charge that thief with a knife.

"Almost done here. What do you say you have a look at these? Tell me what you see." He revealed a few pieces of paper, the typical obscure ink pictures. The first was some strange splodges with what looked like antennae...what the hell was it meant to be?

"An angry two-headed ant." Trying to get a laugh.

"Okay. How about this one." The second picture, oh dear...why was there a picture of that?! He couldn't bring himself to say it. He wanted to laugh.

"I don't think I should say what it looks like."

The doctor showed no humour, "Last one." The final picture was just a dark stain, but with a clean part in the middle. How was he meant to know?

"A light in the darkness." That sounded cornier than he meant. The doctor leant back.

"Well, that's all she wrote. I don't have nothing to compare it to." What a waste of time! "All right. I guess that about does it. Come with me, I'll see you out." They stood up, the Courier was still rather lost for words, where was this 'Goodsprings'? They walked down a dusty hallway to the door, when the doctor turned to him.

"Here. These are yours. Was all you had on you when you was brought in." He handed the Courier a pile of things: a laser pistol, medicines and a blue jumpsuit he quickly put on to cover himself. "I hope you don't mind but I gave the note a look. I thought it might help me find a next of kin. But it was just something about a platinum chip." He fetched this note from his pocket and gave it to the Courier.

"Thanks for patching me up, Doc. What do I do now?

"You should talk to Sunny Smiles before you leave town. She can help you learn how to fend for yourself in the desert. She'll likely be at the saloon. And the metal fella, Victor, who pulled you out'ta your grave. Try not to get killed anymore." He joked.

Speechless, still unsure who he was, where he was and why he was here, the Courier stepped through the door into the town.


End file.
